O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
Helen Hunt JacksonComment
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Helen Hunt JacksonComment
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
Helen Hunt JacksonComment
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Helen Hunt JacksonComment
The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.
Helen Hunt JacksonComment